


For The Win

by red_crate



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Confessions, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Kissing, Lacrosse, M/M, Pining, Pre-Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-07
Updated: 2018-09-07
Packaged: 2019-07-08 02:43:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15921210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/red_crate/pseuds/red_crate
Summary: The crush Stiles has had on Danny has been the bane of his existence on the lacrosse team; it's worse than all the running and all the drills he has to do even though he only sits on the bench during games.





	For The Win

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nezstorm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nezstorm/gifts).



> I hope you enjoy it, Nez!

 

Sweat stings in the corner of Stiles's left eye, and he thinks it's total bullshit that he is sweaty enough for that to happen. “We're second string,” he complains as he pulls his shirt hem up to wipe at his face. “What's the point?” 

Next to him, Scott tries to reason, smile tugging at his mouth anyway. “I think the point is to  _ get better _ .” 

The afternoon has turned cool, and the air feels good against his damp skin, so Stiles rucks his shirt up some more as the team makes their way from the field to the locker room. He wants to change and get home so he can shower in peace. 

“Fat chance of that happening,” Jackson scoffs from the side, voicing Stiles's own thoughts. 

Coming from that guy though, Stiles finds the words offensive. He bristles, glaring. “Don't you need to go fix your hair, princess?” Jackson's hair does look terrible, sticking out at odd angles and wet from sweat after taking his helmet off. 

Jackson just rolls his eyes and asks, “When are you two losers going to quit the team?” 

They be made it into the hallway, which funnels the team in tighter as they head towards the locker room. Stiles takes the opportunity to to accidentally shove into Jackson's side and step on his foot with his cleats. 

“Fucking watch it, you—” Jackson exclaims, but Finstock cuts him off, holding the door open for the team.

“I don't want to hear another word from anyone!” He points inside the locker room, glaring at Jackson. “That was the saddest practice I've seen in all my years of coaching!”

Jackson shoves bodily at Stiles, sending him into Scott's side but not doing much harm. As he straightens up, Stiles mutters, “Real inspirational there, Coach.” 

Finstock gives him the crazy eyes and turns his pointing finger right at Stiles. “You're running suicides before practice tomorrow!”

Anger courses through Stiles, but he keeps his trap shut for now, dutifully following Scott and the rest of the team. At least he can peel off his uniform now. The silence in the room is punctuated by the sound of shoes hitting metal and the squeak of too old shower handles being turned. Most of his teammates go to rinse off, but Stiles sits heavily on the bench by his locker and shimmies into his jeans, grimacing at the way the tight material sticks to his legs. He'd rather shower at home, in privacy. 

Scott knocks his shoulder good naturedly, and when Stiles looks up at him, does a pretty good job at subtly when he nods his head to the left. 

Stiles follows the direction, face heating up when his eyes land on the main reason showering with the team is a very bad idea. 

Danny his shirtless with just a very small towel wrapped around his waist keeping things PG. Stiles watches the boy's back muscles ripple as he rummages through his backpack in search of something. He's tall and broad, muscled in a way that is both totally beautiful and completely jealousy inspiring. The crush Stiles has had on Danny has been the bane of his existence on the lacrosse team; it's worse than all the running and all the drills he has to do even though he only sits on the bench during games. 

From his periphery, Stiles notes Scott abandoning him for the shower, but he's still staring at Danny as his mind flits from fantasy to fantasy. Not every thought he has is totally sexual either.

Danny smiles one of his bright, crooked ones over at Jackson in response to whatever the jerk whispered. Panic courses through Stiles when he realizes Danny's gaze has moved to land squarely on him, smile turning a little confused. 

Stiles can either pretend he wasn't looking or he can commit, and his momma didn't raise no quitter (though Stiles admits there are some things he gets himself into that he  _ should _ quit). He pastes a painful little smile onto his own face and gives Danny a short-lived wave as if it was just a coincidence that he spent the last sixty seconds drooling over him. It seems to work though, because Danny just shakes his head, smile softening again, before moving towards the showers. 

Stiles stands up and turns around as he hops in place to tug his jeans all the way up. The whole time, his mind has dueling thoughts about Danny naked and his own pathetic life.

Barely two minutes later, a pair of sandaled feet enter his field of vision when he's leaned down to tie his sneakers, and Stiles looks up slowly because he's pretty sure he recognizes those toes. 

Danny is back from his shower, water droplets glistening on his chest. His hair is slicked down. Expression amused, he says, “Hey.”

“Hi...” Stiles can literally feel the blood rushing to his neck and face. He's usually pretty chill when talking to his crushes, but, nine times out of ten, he's the one striking up the conversation first. And he's not usually trying to talk to his crush when they're still, distressingly, half naked. 

Danny smiles and his eyes crinkle at the corner, too cute and so appealing. Stiles sits up straight and then stands, because it feels a little awkward to be eye-level with Danny's somehow adorable belly button. 

“You can get better, you know,” Danny says, as if they're picking back up on a conversation from earlier. When he catches Stiles's confusion, he chuckles. “At lacrosse. You're not actually terrible, Stiles. You just need to take a little more interest in your skill.”

Stiles blinks at him, then looks around for Jackson, wondering darkly if the jerk pushed  Danny into setting up some stupid joke. But Jackson isn't lurking in the wings, and must still be showering off. He really does take a long time to primp. 

“Uh, I guess? Thanks?” Stiles doesn't really know what to do with this unusual turn of events. Danny's eyes are shining, and Stiles can't help but be mesmerized by the dark chocolate of his irises. He's got kind eyes, ones Stiles wouldn't mind looking at forever. In his dreamy state, Stiles must have missed a social cue, because Danny shakes his head with a chuckle before sighing and looking back at Stiles. 

“That was an offer to help,” he says, lips curling. “If you want to, and as long as you promise to take it seriously.” 

As far as Stiles knows, Danny doesn't practice with anyone besides Jackson outside of allotted team practices. Being the goalie probably means a lot of people have asked Danny for after hours help, but Stiles hasn't really heard of Danny agreeing or offering. The thought makes Stiles's stomach flip.

He laughs a little breathlessly. “Really? That's nice of you.” Stiles doesn't like playing lacrosse all that much—only tried out because Scott wanted to do it together—but for this? For this opportunity, he can find it within himself to love the game. “When?”

Danny crosses his arms and lifts a challenging eyebrow. “After practice tomorrow? We can hang back on the field, if you're not too wiped out from all your suicides before practice,” he teases.

He's teasing Stiles, and Stiles feels like he's going to die right there. 

“Pfft,” Stiles makes a face. “Dude, I'll be fine.” 

Lifting his chin appraisingly, then finding something approving, Danny nods slowly. “Cool. It's a date.” 

Stiles watches him saunter back to his locker, face slack and mind buzzing over  _ “it's a date” _ with a manic energy. 

Scott, bless him, comes back from his shower right then. He's walking slowly as he rubs his shaggy hair dry with a second towel, but Stiles clutches his arm and drags him closer. 

“Danny asked me out,” he hisses with probably too much gusto. But he can't help it, considering he feels like he just might explode. 

Pulling the towel down around his neck, Scott exclaims, “What? Dude!” That is, of course, mortifying. 

The guys milling about closest to them look over sharply at the outburst. 

“Oh my God, Scott.” Stiles shoves his hand against Scott's mouth to shut him up, nervously glancing at Danny. 

Danny is dressed in his jeans, tugging down a tight t-shirt over his chest. He's smiling— Stiles can tell because of the curve to his cheek— at nothing, and Stiles sucks in a deep breath. It'll be okay. 

Slapping the hand away, Scott sits down on the bench and pulls his clothes out of his locker. “What do you mean? When did this happen?” He whispers his questions.

Stiles is fully dressed, but he sits down next to Scott to fill him in on what just happened. When he's finished, Scott has his pants on, but he's frowning at his t-shirt in his hands. 

“I don't know if that counts?” Scott’s eyes are big and round when he looks over at Stiles. “Danny's a really nice guy. He might only be trying to help you out. I don't want you to get all worked up about this, and it turns out it's not a real date.”

Stiles gives him a long, flat look before shoving to his feet and slinging his backpack over one shoulder. “Whatever.” 

Guilt pricks at the back of his mind as he stomps through the mostly empty locker room, but he's riding high on insecurity and brazen hope. He really, really wants Danny's offer to mean something more than just a teammate helping another teammate. He wants it to mean that all of his pining from a distance will get a chance to develop into something else. The fact that Scott might just be right, though, stings. 

He doesn't go farther than the student parking lot, leaning against the Jeep and glaring at the faded asphalt as he pouts. It sucks. The sympathetic look Scott gives him when he catches up with him a few minutes later is still comforting, because Stiles knows his best bud is only looking out for him. 

They stop by Dairy Queen on the way home, and Scott buys him a celebratory Blizzard. All is forgiven, and Stiles starts daydreaming again. 

* * *

Stiles isn't the only one with a crush, and he would like to point out that his pining for Danny probably wouldn't have started if Scott hadn’t fallen madly in love with Allison first. Allison who is pretty and new and who Scott made friends with on her first day, before Lydia got to her. Somehow, that friendship has survived, and it means Scott, and Stiles as a result, sit with the popular kids at lunch now.

Jackson absolutely  _ hates _ it.

Stiles grins at him, all teeth, when he sits across from him. He flicks his gaze, fleetingly, over at Danny and gives him a genuine smile which is returned. 

Jackson rolls his eyes and slumps in his chair, not even acknowledging the distracted way Lydia pats him on the hand as she chats with Allison. 

“Are you actually going to waste your time on them today?” Jackson asks Danny, loudly, and Stiles looks up from the carton of milk he'd been opening. 

Stiles's can feel irritation bubbling up, even as his knuckles flex around the hold on his milk. Jackson crawls under his skin just as much as he bugs Jackson. He doesn't really want to hear Danny's response, still worried that this is some kind of joke or something.

Danny elbows Jackson lightly, glancing over at Stiles before looking at his best friend with a disappointed expression. “Cut it out, man.” 

Stiles waits for Danny to say anything else, but Danny's mouth stays closed even when it curves slightly as he catches Stiles's eye again. Danny looks apologetic. 

“Danny didn't ask me to practice,” Scott oh so helpfully supplies. He doesn't seem to understand the bomb he just dropped, because he's too busy exchanging dopey smiles with Allison as he mutters, “I've got homework,” like it's code for  _ date _ .

Stiles snorts darkly. The sound is muffled by Jackson exhaling heavily and saying, “You have  _ got _ to be kidding me.”

Stiles watches from beneath his lashes as something interesting happens. Danny's cheeks darken in a blush. From the sudden way Jackson cringed and shifts away from Danny in his seat, Stiles is pretty sure Danny just stomped on Jackson's foot. 

The more he thinks about it, the more hopeful he is that Danny really does have motives besides getting a second string player doing better on the field. 

He doesn't get to think about it much more, however, until school is finished and it's time for practice. Stiles gets dressed quickly, impatient with Scott who has to search through his bag for the inhaler he is supposed to keep with him during gym and when participating in sports. 

Finstock clutches the shoulder of his uniform before they get out the door, however. “Warm up quick, kid, you owe me some suicides.” 

And then the next ninety minutes are spent with Stiles running too much, falling a lot, and generally hating life because Coach has decided to put most of his focus on Stiles for the entirety of practice. By the time the whistle is reluctantly blown, Stiles feels like his shoulders are on fire and his entire body is one giant sweat drop. The cool of the evening air barely registers. 

Flat on his back and staring up at the slowly darkening sky, Stiles gulps down oxygen. He can hear the retreating sound of his teammates leaving the field. He mutters, “Don't worry about me. I'm just dying, is all,” giving a jaunty little wave to no one. At least the ground is soft when he lets his head thunk back down. 

“Hopefully not,” Danny says from above him. His back and shoulders block the setting sun, and he looks a little bit like a saint. The bottle of water he offers Stiles helps complete the vision. 

Slowly sitting up, feeling silly for once, Stiles accepts the water. He untwists the cap and squints up at Danny. “Debatable.”

“We need you in the team,” Danny says while folding himself to sit next to Stiles. He's sweaty and his shirt has a wet ring around his neck, but on him it just seems like he walked off out of a Gatorade commercial. “And I would be sad if you weren't around to piss off Jackson.”

Stiles lets out a surprised bark of laughter at Danny's mischievous smile. “Yeah, someone needs to be around to knock him down a peg or two.” He holds Danny's gaze for a beat before chugging down half the water. 

“So,” Danny says when Stiles drops his hands to hang between his knees. “I'm guessing after all that, you aren't really up for more practice.” 

Stiles tries to protest, but his muscles feel achy and stiff. The prospect of even doing a few drills leaves him grimacing. 

Danny nods and leans back so he's resting his weight on his hands. He watches Stiles for a long moment, the silence turning contemplative. Fidgeting is something Stiles does, and with the full weight of Danny's attention on him, he feels the need to move increase. Stiles digs his thumb nail beneath the edge of the label on his water bottle, tugging the plastic up and pulling at the glued seam. He keeps sneaking glances at Danny who is still  _ looking _ and not talking or moving. 

Just as he's about to burst, Danny finally asks, “Do you want to do some stretches?” 

The cool down routine Finstock leads them through at the end of practice is basic at best, but it's usually enough to keep Stiles from cramping or ralphing in the trashcan on his way inside. Danny looks almost shy when he suggests stretches though. Stiles finds himself nodding, happy to have any reason to not scrap this whole unexpected experience. 

He nods and quickly follows Danny's lead by stretching his left leg out to the side and leaning over to grab into the top of his foot. That feels pretty good for his back and his leg muscles. They repeat the motions with their right sides. Afterwards, they follow up with some deep breathing and arm stretches. Then Danny rolls onto his knees and directs Stiles to lie back.

The clouds above him are dark blue with the almost purple sky peeking between them. He feels chilly now that he's not actively sweating, lying there in the fall evening with his damp shirt still on. He swallows when Danny scoots closer between Stiles's planted feet. 

When Danny’s hands rest lightly on his bare knees, Stiles feels like he's being scorched. “Ham stretches,” Danny explains, dimple showing on one side. 

Choking on a laugh, Stiles agrees, “Okay.” He loosens the tension in his legs and moves with the guidance of Danny's hands. 

His left knee is carefully pushed up towards Stiles's chest until it nearly touches, causing a nice ache to come to life along the back of his thigh. The feeling intensifies and spreads along the inside of his leg when Danny leans forward and rotates Stiles's leg to the side. He feels exposed even with all his clothes on, Danny pushed between his thighs and holding him open like that. It feels good though, and the relief his muscles experience is almost enough to distract him from the way another part of his lower region is reacting. 

Danny pulls back, long fingers curled around Stiles's calf, and brings it down so his foot is once again on the ground. 

Pausing with his hand on Stiles's right knee, Danny looks over Stiles. A little valley of concentration creases between his eyebrows as he asks, “Stiles, why do you keep asking me if you're attractive to gay guys?” 

Stiles immediately wants to recoil and run away. He knows he hasn't been subtle— in fact he has been bugging Danny with those questions lately precisely because he rather hide in plain sight and make a joke out of things. If it's a joke on his own terms, then he doesn't have to think of the real consequences or the way he feels kind of sick every time someone laughs at the very idea of anyone finding him attractive. Danny isn't laughing now though. He doesn't look like he's waiting to deliver a punchline at Stiles's expense. 

He has to do something, however, so he folds an arm over his eyes and shrugs. Danny shakes Stiles's knee, a little impatient. “Sorry,” Stiles mutters. 

His heart is beating hard in his chest as if he'd just finished attempting a set of burpees. It hurts. 

Danny's fingers rub soothingly over the knob of his knee. “It's okay.” Stiles listens to the soft sound of Danny wetting his lips. “Do you want to talk about anything in particular?”

It's that tone and those words, and Stiles groans. “No, Danny.” He flings his arm out to the side and stares hard at the sky. “I don't need to talk about how I'm sort of into guys, or at least this one guy. I'm not freaking out about it or anything. But thanks for offering. You're really nice.”

Stiles is aware his words come out sounding much less grateful than they should. But he never had a gay panic, just maybe some confusion before he shrugged it off and realized it wasn't a big deal to him. His dad won't have an issue with it, if and whenever Stiles has reason to actually tell him. No one even cares about that stuff much anymore, so, no, Stiles doesn’t need to talk about his sexuality with Danny. 

“Okay,” Danny says, voice small and hand falling away from Stiles. He sits down without finishing the stretch routine. 

When Stiles sits back up, he frowns at Danny. He acted like kind of a dick in the face of Danny's friendly offer to talk. It would have just felt a lot better if Stiles wasn't now ninety-nine percent sit this “date” was just a way for Danny to get Stiles alone so they could have a heart-to-heart, one queer kid to another. 

“Thanks, Danny, really.” He leans back on his palms, not quite meeting Danny's eyes. “I'm cool, though.” 

“So who is he, then? The guy you're worried about?” Danny asks suddenly. His shoulders have relaxed, and he looks less like someone kicked him. 

Stiles is mortified by the way his face heats up. The stadium lights flicked on ten minutes ago, and he can't even pretend his blush isn't there. It gets worse when he squeaks out, “No one!”

Danny laughs quietly, looking away and then back at Stiles. His lashes look thick and soft from this angle, and for some reason it makes butterflies start up in Stiles's stomach. 

“Really?” Danny asks, leading. “I know him, don't I?” that simple reappears, and, suddenly, Stiles is remembering the stupid dreamy sighs Scott has let out whenever Allison does that to him. He definitely feels a little closer to his best friend right now. 

Pulling his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around them, Stiles hides his face. The scent of grass and sweat is strong. He inhaled, deeply, hoping to clear his head a little. In that moment, he comes to the realization that he's probably never going to get a better chance than this to tell Danny how he feels. 

Stiles is a realist, and no matter how much he's enjoyed having a crush on Danny, the shine will wear off soon enough. He doesn't want to spend the rest of his high school career pining for a dream when he could get it over with right now. Danny is nice; he'll let Stiles down gently. 

So with a heavy sigh, Stiles straightens up, fingers digging hard into his legs for strength. “You're the guy, Danny.” He can't help the grimace that crosses his features, but at least he meets Danny's gaze head-on. “I like you,” he tacks on. One more nai in the coffinl won't do any harm at this point. 

Danny stares at him, eyebrows steadily climbing his forehead until he looks sufficiently shocked. “Oh.”

That's about as much as Stiles can take. He did the whole confession thing. He knows there's no chance in hell Danny will ever be interested in him. On shaky legs, Stiles stands up and wipes off the grass from his shorts. “Yeah, it's fine though. We're cool, man. I, uh, I'll see ya around.”

The school is a little blurry when he locks onto it, power walking away like getting distance between them will make the ache in his chest fade. 

“Hey, wait!” Danny calls out, jogging to catch up with him. He has to grab Stiles by the elbow to make him stop his escape. “Wait.” 

Stiles can see the nose of his Jeep where it's parked, and he thinks if he ran fast enough he could get it started and peel out of here before Danny caught him again. Maybe it would be worth getting a zero on his take-home history quiz. 

Danny's talking though, and Stiles's treacherous eyes look back at him. They sting with unshed tears. Hopefully, the shadows keep Danny from being able to see that though. 

“You are attractive to gay guys,” Danny's voice kind of wavers. “To me, specifically.” 

Stiles blinks, wiping away the fat tears that drop off his lashes with annoyance. “What?” He must have heard wrong. 

Danny's fingers flex on the hold of Stiles's elbow, and then his hand is sliding up his bicep as he steps closer. “I think you're cute, and funny, and kind of mean but in a good way sometimes. I like you, Stiles.” 

That doesn't register for a solid minute. Stiles just gapes at Danny, having never really considered he had a shot with him. He stutters through several words as he tried to figure out why— how— when.

Then Danny's lips shut him up, quieting the frantic grinding of Stiles's brain with a firm and lingering kiss. 

It feels like every cliche Stiles has heard of: fireworks, music swelling, choirs singing— all of it. He leans into the kiss and curves a hand around Danny's neck to keep him there just a second longer. When they finally break, his eyes stay closed. He savors the moment. 

Danny has moved closer, and their chests almost touch, feet slotted between each other. It smells like sweaty guys and dirt and faded cologne, but Stiles will take it. He'll take the warmth rolling off Danny in the chill of the evening and remember the way he didn't feel cold at all. 

Stiles looks up at Danny and says, “Best first kiss, ever.” 

That breaks a smile and a laugh out of Danny. Stiles swallows it up in another kiss. 

Later, after their mouths have gone a little chapped and Stiles is out of breath, he reaches down to hold Danny's hand. When Danny threads their fingers together and squeezes, Stiles smiles to himself.

Their hands swing between them as they walk towards the deserted school, and Stiles holds the door open for him. 

A thought springs to mind. “Hey, this wasn't our first date, was it?” 

Danny tugs him close and lets go only to hook his arm around Stiles's waist. “Definitely not. You owe me dinner.” 

Stiles bumps their hips together, riding high on the giddiness. “I don't know man, you got pretty handsy back there.” He lifts his hands and does finger quotes. “Stretches.” 

They both laugh when Danny shoves Stiles up against the wall and kisses him square on the lips. “Fine. I'll buy dinner, and maybe you can get handsy with me later.” 

Stiles thumps his head against the wall and beams at Danny. “Deal.” 

For the first time in his life, Stiles finds himself thankful for lacrosse. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you wanna come hang out with me on Tumblr, I'm [here](http://the-redcrate.tumblr.com).
> 
> Comment if you enjoyed this, please!


End file.
